The Anhedoniacs (Breath Erases Epitaphs)


You do realize you’re the Star
Magi such as I follow, guided
to our prize by eyes ablaze with your
insight burning bright from inside


Sacrificed in the sacred journey
to satisfy every urge
of my body society has
denied me by being so sore,


So entirely opposed to me
becoming my Self, this force, it’s as
if only I ever knew scorched
or existed, really, burn silenced


Before every one of them, dirge
cursing hard this notorious
luxury of us lovelorn and weak
voluptuaries, we whose need


To be obscene and not herded
obfuscates and turns obsequious
intentions to show me colours
our biggest enemies won’t let bleed,


Won’t let me speak what wants to be seen,
ambitionless whispers become
crackling lustre drifter deviants
demanding diamonds often


Lack, enough wealth of charisma,
some semblance of personality
stashed beneath their grin’s veneer to
silver party-sized mirrors, dust from


Moonlight dropped, contracts ripped up, vomit
of confetti in the dark, sharp
scarred scattered jewels of pearls torn from
obliterated hearts, gris(t)ly


Valentine parts editors chopped
to shop to retailers whose sole sale
is to those whose wounds no sell will
make whole, all about the reveal, what


Concealed spark, what chutzpah runs white with
lust, circles around us drained from
the high, brassy as bells the banging
of swinging, sweating balls fills with


Cracks, tactless but artful, what I’m
after surrounds with tongues of lightning
under the rust until its burst’s
bubbled flesh rubs off this armour our


Flushed desire tosses apart, trashes
until stopped hearts again start chilled,
discarded frost of light cast like breath
across gated garden grass, it’s


Not combat unless we engage,
and as your breath erases this lay’s
epitaph, know I who felt no
pleasure will forever feel no pain,


Never again, not in the same way
as my before, however, still
unable to rest until a New
Word Order initiates change


By blanking this greyed slate until
it breaks the way our bed does under
the weight of my emptiness the
ravenous gaze of your revenant


Glimpse takes as toll for having held in
those arms what no other lover
ever before would hold, the burden
of a boneyard turned from a place


Of mourning to the sunsetting
of a shadowy poem one gets
only when no longer obsessed
with knowing but sensing its lie’s depth.